Thursday, September 11, 2014

Take a Lesson from Tolstoy

what's the harm
in dashing off
short novels
when images
spike,

titles stir
and spiral
stair to cloudy
heavens
turn,

I glance at
sky
expecting rain,

sun alone,
pulsing,
day after day,
and soon
another week,
another month,
gone,

I need to find the lock
and pound out
the keys,

why can't I
get this pen going
when I've got
the damn line?--

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